


Drabbles

by Emberxashton



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Dark Stephen Strange, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Parenting Peter Parker | Supremefamily | Strange Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emberxashton/pseuds/Emberxashton
Summary: Excerpts from random stories I've thought of. Unsure of whether I'll pursue them or not. If I should please let me know! So far just IronStrange Family, eventually there will be more.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Stephen Strange, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Drabbles

_ [ ](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.deviantart.com%2Fmiloutjexdrawing%2Fart%2FPeter-support-IronStrange-745856468&psig=AOvVaw3PMz5mfHhAeHou2RR4ZGxg&ust=1590073140053000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCLCvvpzawukCFQAAAAAdAAAAABA3) _

_ (Some fluff before the story) _

_ Just a few more minutes. A few more swings. C’mon Peter! You’re almost home. Just keep going!  _ Peter chanted to himself as he shot another web, swinging from building to building through the cold, wintry night. The lights from the passing windows, neon signs, even the lamps hanging above the street were blinding. So bright. Too bright. Peter was on edge. He was panicking. His breaths came and went in fast little puffs, not at all conducive to the strain he was putting on his body as he raced home. 

He needed to get to Tony. He was the only one who can make this right. Tony always knew what to do. Stephen might know too but he was out of town. Even with the portals it was too risky to call him. Chimaera had him tapped. Been listening on his conversations with his friends, his teammates, his parents. He didn’t know for how long, but it was long enough. 

Tonight, was a disaster. He had led his teammates into a trap. Matt, Frank, Jessica, all of them now in Chimaera’s hands with only Peter to get them out. A scrawny 16-year-old kid who had lost everyone he had cared about. His parents. Uncle Ben. Even Aunt May. It was only a matter of time before Tony would make the list too. And Stephen. How was he supposed to save them when he couldn’t save the ones who mattered most?

_ Almost there. Almost there.  _ Peter chanted, ignoring the burn in his throat, the jolts of pain zinging through his skull with every blinding light he passed. 

The moment the big A came into view Peter almost released his hold on the webbing in relief. Avengers Tower. His home. His safe place. His sanctuary (apart from Stephen’s actual Sanctuary blocks away on Bleeker street of course). The place where Tony tested his equipment in the lab, where Stephen read his books and levitated with ease during meditation, where the three of them would curl up on the couch and watch movies every night with a bowl of chocolate chip popcorn and another bowl for blueberries and almonds. The place where Tony was now.

Peter took another shallow breath, preparing himself, then heaved himself up in the air with a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, hurtling towards the tower. He landed harshly against the windows, cracking but not breaking through the glass plane like he had hoped. He stuck onto the freezing metal with all his might, then started punching through the glass. It took a few good hits before making it through. 

He exhaled sharply, grabbing his side, hoping he wasn’t bleeding too bad, before standing up and racing through the floor. 

“Hello Peter.” Friday’s voice echoed throughout the floor. “I sense you are in distress. Shall I contact Mr. Stark?”

“Hey Friday! I need you to take me to him. This is an emergency!” He limped towards the elevator, roughly pushing his floor number as the elevator doors shut in an agonizingly slow pace. 

“You heart rate is extremely high. You have been shot 3 times in the abdominal area, including a punctured lung, and I believe you are suffering from a severe concussion. I’m taking you to the medical bay for immediate evaluation.”

“Wait! No! I need to talk to Tony! Now! It’s an emergency! People are in danger!”

“If you do not receive medical attention soon Peter, I’m afraid your life will be in danger-” 

“My life is already in danger! Chimaera has my friends! They tried to kill me and will try to kill them if I don’t do something!”

Silence.

“Please Friday! Take me to Tony! Please!”

Another beat of silence. “Very well, but I will contact your Father on the seriousness of your condition.” 

“That’s fine, just get me to him.” Peter wheezed, leaning back against the elevator, closing his eyes to block the pain from the lights.

A few minutes of silence, and then the doors opened to a miraculously dark floor. Peter exhaled in relief before stumbling into the darkness, eyes scanning the area wildly for Tony. 

“Tony!” He called anxiously. He walked towards the open kitchen area connected to the lounge, the city gleaming through the wide expanse of windows. The TV was on, playing a one of the local news channels. It was muted, but the image was clear. A warehouse complex was on fire. The same one Peter just escaped from. Completely engulfed with flames, firemen attempting to hose it down, civilians being evacuated by policeman in the area. Peter’s heart sank. He whimpered. Matt’s face crossed his mind, then Frank’s, then Jessica’s. 

He couldn’t save them. 

He wanted to sink to the floor. He wanted to wallow in the sorrow that threatened to consume him. He wanted to give up so bad. But he couldn’t. They counted on him, told him to run for a reason. Breaking down and floundering in self pity wasn’t it. He needed to stop this. Stop Chimaera. It might not be official but Goddammit Peter was an Avenger, and Avengers don’t quit until the job is finished. 

The sound came on.

_ -in the downtown district. At this point, no one knows how the fire began or when it started. No one has been found or reported injured yet. It is believed that the fire tonight is the handiwork of the Punisher, Frank Castle, who was spotted fleeing the scene in a stolen black SUV with two other assailants, one believed to be Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen and the other who has yet to be identified. There was also a sighting of the menace Spiderman near the scene before the blaze started, but there is no evidence linking him to the crime yet. We will be covering this story as the blaze continues. In other news-” _

The TV was muted again. 

Peter was so overcome with relief that it didn’t occur to him how strange it was that the volume of the TV mysteriously turned on and off without anyone pressing the mute button on the remote which was . . . wait a minute.

Where is the remote?

There was a soft noise on the table to the right of Peter. He turned to face it. There in front of him was the remote to the tv, and a shadowy figure, long and lean, standing next to it. His back was to Peter, a glass filled with amber liquid in hand, staring at the view.

“Tony,” Peter wheezed, stumbling towards him eagerly. 

“Tony is in our room getting some much-needed rest. He won’t be up for some time.” The figure drawled, lifting the glass to his lips, taking a sip.

Peter stopped. “St- Stephen?”

“Hello Peter,” the figure turned. 

The lights came on as he did. Thankfully they were dimmed, but it still forced Peter to close his eyes, blinking rapidly until the pain waned. 

Standing long and lean, tall and proud, Stephen set down his glass and gingerly walked towards Peter. The upscale fabric of his black button-down shirt glinted in the dim light, the charcoal slacks tailormade to fit his body to Tony’s liking. He wore no shoes, just a pair of black socks. At first there was nothing but brewing tension in his eyes, but as he moved closer to Peter’s form, concern took hold.

Despite the concern, Peter’s spider sense went haywire. He wasn’t safe. He needed to get out of here. He matched Stephen’s movements by stepping backwards, never taking his eyes off the sorcerer. 

Stephen stopped, sighing in disappointment. Hands into pockets.

“I’m glad you made it home Peter. Why don’t you let me take a look at you? Friday mentioned you were in serious condition.”

“I need to talk to Tony.” Peter responded stiffly, continuing his escape towards the elevator.

“I told you, he’s resting. He’ll be out for a while.”

“Then I’ll wake him up-” Peter bumped into one of the bar stools. Caught off guard he danced around the falling furniture and turned away from Stephen, hugging his side and limping towards the elevator. 

A portal appeared in front of it, Stephen stepping through it, calm concern coloring his expression.

“You need to get to the Medical Bay. You’re severely injured.”

“I wonder why,” Peter growled, attempting to shove passed Stephen without much luck. 

The taller man took hold of Peter’s shoulders, forcing him backwards until he leaned against the bar. A squeak of pain escaped Peter’s lips, instantly doubling over to hug his torso, trying to catch his breath. 

“Peter, you are in no condition to argue with me.” He gently pushed on Peter’s shoulders until his torso straightened out, staring intensely into his eyes. “You can talk to Tony when he wakes up.”

“No! Stephen please, I need to talk to him now!” 

“Nothing that can’t wait-”

“It can’t wait! Tony needs-”

“Tony needs to rest, and you need to be evaluated.” Stephen cut Peter off sternly, his grip tightening on Peter’s shoulders. 

Peter wouldn’t stop. He pushed Stephen away a bit too exuberantly, sending the Doctor skidding across the cool marble flooring. Peter raced to the door. Wheezing through the jolts of pain. Limping with incredible speed towards the bedrooms. Stephen portaled in front of him once more. Peter tried to rush past but was stopped when Stephen used his magic to create a shield that sent Peter backwards, collapsing to the floor just as Stephen did. He forced himself to his feet, attempting to shoot a web at the Doctor’s face, but was stopped when two magical whips appeared from the ground with barely a sound and latched onto his wrists, restraining him.

He tried fighting the restraints only to scream in pain. The exertion only made his wounds rip into him more. Peter can’t stop though. He must get to Tony. Tony will help him. Help the others. 

Stephen sighed from above Peter, kneeling so he was eye level with his son. Worry colored his expression, sadness leaked from his grey eyes. His fingers went to Peter’s head, quickly pulling off the mask and throwing it aside. His expression cracked when he saw Peter’s expression. The pain twisting his boyish, handsome face. The fear in those innocent, kind molten eyes. The tremble of his lips. The blood on his temple. He tangled his fingers in Peter’s curly, damp locks, gently pulling his face back to look at him properly. 

“You shouldn’t have been there tonight, Peter.” Stephen exhaled sharply, a single tear falling down his cheek. “You should have stayed in your room and studied like I asked you too.”

Peter’s body froze. Looking into those steely eyes, everything finally clicked. His spider sense going off when Stephen was around, the mysterious disappearances that were connected to the sorcerers, the Chimaera symbol suspiciously taking after the Eye of Agamotto, Stephen’s increasing stress, the mysterious figure performing magic at the warehouse tonight. It was all Stephen. 

Doctor Strange was Chimaera.

Peter’s eyes were clouded with tears. His head starting shaking. 

“No,” he whimpered, “not you. It can’t be you.”

Stephen didn’t answer, just watched in agony as his son fell apart before him.

“Please tell me it’s not you. Please.” Peter begged. His head would have fallen forward if Stephen hadn’t been holding it. 

“Let’s get you checked out,” Stephen responded stiffly, releasing Peter’s hair and standing up. 

The moment Peter’s restraints were lifted he immediately lunged backwards. It was to no avail. Instead of landing onto the floor, he fell through it. Through the floor and onto a soft, spongey surface that bounced his body back up slightly before falling back down. Hospital bed. Stephen portaled him to the Medical Bay. Peter tried to push off when the magical restraints wrapped around him once more, only this time it wasn’t just his wrists. Each individual cord catapulted from the hospital bed and strapped him to the bed, covering his body like Devil’s Snare in Harry Potter. 

“No,” he shouted, fighting the magical cords with all his might, the room nothing but a blur. “Let me go! Please, let me go!” His breath wheezed by the point. 

A cool hand touched Peter’s forehead, pushing it down to the bed. Fingers swept across his struggling face, wiping away tears. Peter looked up, trying to catch his breath.

Stephen placed a firm hand on Peter’s sternum, thumb softly caressing the Spider emboldened there. The other tangled in Peter’s curls once more. Steel eyes melting as more tears fell down his cheeks. 

“Please, Dr. Strange. Please,” Peter gasped, meekly struggling to pull away from Stephen’s touch.

“Peter,” Stephen started, his voice hard and cold, “you need to breathe.”

Peter wasn’t listening. Shaking his head furiously.

“Let me go!” He screamed, resumed his thrashing.

Stephen’s hand moved from Peter’s sternum and caged his son’s jaw in a bruising grip. Panic jolted through Peter, freezing him to his core. Staring into Stephen steely eyes, unable to fight back anymore. He lay still beneath the Sorcerer, waiting for what was to come. 

Stephen bent down, his fingers tightening on Peter’s jaw, until their faces were inches apart.

“Peter. You don’t need to be afraid of me.” Peter hiccupped beneath him; Stephen caressed his chin with his thumb to soothe him. “I’m going to take care of you, son. You’re safe here.” He kissed Peter’s forehead. Peter never thought he would be so terrified and disgusted by that action. It always meant warmth and safety. A father protecting his son. Now it was just wrong.

Peter whimpered, nonsensical babble bursting from his lips, tears mixing with the blood from his temple. Stephen pulled away; his breath shaky. 

“You’ll be okay, son. We’re going to be okay.”

With that he placed two fingers on Peter’s forehead. Peter felt his body finally give out as the darkness overtook him. 

[ ](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fmisspepper07.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F187206577517%2Fnightmares%2Famp&psig=AOvVaw0ehf_cK9CAhMSrf5p4NE75&ust=1590075325725000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCNDK3LLiwukCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAJ)

( _Poor Peter)_


End file.
